The morning in the old alley is steamed by the heat of tofu flowers.
I squatted in front of the stall and watched my grandma open the lid of the wooden barrel. The white mist poured out, wrapped in the fragrance of beans, and blurred the silver hair on her head. She scooped up a spoonful of tofu curd, shook it off gently, and slid it into the coarse porcelain bowl, like a ball of freshly fallen snow.
When I was ten years old, my mother pointed at me and said, "Your father left early, and I guarded you, a debt collector, for eight lifetimes!"
That night, I sneaked out of the house and squatted in front of my grandma's tofu stall, crying. She handed me a piece of maltose and said, "Eat it, it will be sweet and not bitter."
Grandma guarded the old locust tree at the entrance of the alley and sold tofu pudding all her life, waiting for someone who never came back.
Later, I quit my job in the city and returned to the old alley to open a small bookstore.
Every morning, I sit under the old locust tree and watch the sun shine through the leaves, just like the steam coming out of the barrel when my grandma sold tofu pudding.
When children come to buy books, I will give them a piece of maltose and say, "It's sweet and not bitter anymore."
The time in this old alley is like the annual rings of the old locust tree, growing in circles, growing into scars in our hearts, and also growing into the sugar in our hearts.
Demining/Explanation
This article is a short prose, no CP, mainly about family affection, neighborliness and nostalgia for the old days.
The writing style is simple and the pace is slow, suitable for readers who like slow pace and pay attention to emotional details.
The story contains plots of life and death, and the emotions are quite delicate, so please have tissues ready.
Intention: warmth, reality flow, urban life
